


At Your Service

by staymagical



Series: Keithtober 2019 [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Keith has anxiety, Keithtober 2019, Klancetober 2019, Kosmo is a service dog, M/M, Service Dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: Keith gets harassed about taking his service dog, Kosmo into a store. Lance helps defend his rights.“I don’t have to show you anything.” Keith puts a hand on top of Kosmo’s head and threads his fingers through his fur hoping the touch will waylay the anxiety that’s building. “He’s a service dog.”“We don’t allow dogs in here,” she repeats as if Keith hadn’t heard her disgruntled tone the first time. Like she couldn’t believe he was interrupting her perfectly good workday by having the audacity to be saddled with chronic debilitating anxiety.





	At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

> For Keithtober Day 11 and 12: Autumn and Kosmo

Keith is perusing the dress shoe section, trying to decide which would look best with his tux for Shiro’s wedding in a few weeks—yes it’s last minute, but shoes are very easy to forget with all the stressors of being best man, okay—when it happens.

“You’re not allowed to have your dog in here.”

It’s a store employee, the one Keith spotted on the way in just as Taylor Swift’s newest single started up overhead. He knew she could be trouble, her fake nails, pursed lips, and hard scowl aimed at Kosmo were good indicators of ignorance and inflated sense of privilege. 

She looks down her nose at Kosmo like he’s dirt under her shoes. 

Kosmo, as usual, doesn’t react, maintaining a heel position at Keith’s side. 

Keith points down at Kosmo’s vest, trying to ignore the worm of anxiety pushing it’s way up his chest. “He’s my service dog.”

It's ironic, that this rare time he deems himself ready for the questions and comments the service vest will ignite in curious nosy nellies, is the one time it’s completely ignored. 

Just what he needed today. As if he wasn’t stressed enough with the upcoming wedding. Maybe he should truly embrace the recluse Shiro always jokes he is becoming.

With a disbelieving tilt of her chin, the employee asks, “Do you have papers for him?” Haughtiness oozes out of every syllable. 

“I don’t have to show you anything.” Keith puts a hand on top of Kosmo’s head and threads his fingers through his fur hoping the touch will waylay the anxiety that’s building. “He’s a service dog.”

“We don’t allow dogs in here,” she repeats as if Keith hadn’t heard her disgruntled tone the first time. Like she couldn’t believe he was interrupting her perfectly good workday by having the audacity to be saddled with chronic debilitating anxiety. 

Yes, it’s all his fault. So sorry.

“Federal law says you do,” Keith responds. He’s going for annoyed and defensive and crosses his arms for good measure. But inside, his stress is spiking. Kosmo must pick up on it because he’s hyper-focused on Keith, nudging at his hand and offering a paw as a distraction. 

The employee scoffs.  _ Scoffs. _ “You don’t look disabled.” And Keith would be absolutely livid at that comment if he wasn’t fighting an inner battle with himself right now. One he is slowly losing the longer this woman harasses him. “Why do you need him?”

“You can’t ask him that.” 

Suddenly there’s a guy standing there, all brown hair and blue eyes and Keith tries to focus on the way his tanned brow knits in the center and the arching downturn of his lips.

He’s not that bad to look at, actually.

The employee shakes her head and points toward the exit. “If you can’t show proof that he’s a service dog, you’re going to have to leave.”

“That’s illegal,” the guy says and there’s fight in his tone, effortlessly picking it up where Keith is falling short. And Keith wants to be grateful and a part of him is, but he hates that sometimes he can’t do everything himself, that he needs others. That sometimes, he’s vulnerable. Instead, it only adds fuel to his anxiety. 

The guy points an accusatory finger at the employee. “Under federal law and ADA regulations, you cannot kick him or his dog out of any place the public is permitted. He is not required to prove anything to you and you absolutely cannot ask him what his disability is.” Anger colors his tone like this woman just insulted his family and Keith doesn’t know whether he should be ashamed or honored to receive such a defender. “That is none of your business.”

But the employee just waves him off, gesturing toward Kosmo who is steadfastly ignoring her. Keith makes a note to shower him with treats and belly rubs for his stellar behavior today. “It’s not even a real vest. He probably just bought it on Amazon.”

And then she reaches down and yanks at Kosmo’s vest and all hell breaks loose.

Keith’s anxiety skyrockets from trickles to a full-blown attack in a heartbeat. Kosmo is thrown off his focus by the sudden aggressive hand reaching and pulling at him, but Keith jumps in to push her hands away and he recovers quickly enough.

Which is good because Keith is spiraling. 

It’s all too much, too sudden, too overwhelming. With the barrage of questions and harassment, the accusations, then finally the fear for Kosmo’s safety when she lunged at him like a poorly trained aggressive dog, it's a miracle Keith doesn’t drop right there.

He wants to, but Kosmo is at his side, pulling him away from the stressor and out of the store.

The mall is not too crowded, just a few teens and couples here and there, but Keith pays them no mind. He’s following Kosmo's guidance blindly, his heart beating like a caged bird, brain going into overdrive as his chest tightens to a nearly unbearable level.

Everything is blurry and rushing passed at dizzying speeds when Kosmo finally indicates they are somewhere safe and Keith crumbles to the ground. There’s a solid surface at his back, a wall, a window, a door, he couldn’t care less, he just leans into it and lets it support his weight. Kosmo lays on top of him, a grounding pressure as he rides out the attack.

He’s unsure how long it lasts. Time slips by like water through his fingers; he feels it passing but is never truly able to grasp its precise measure.

Until little by little, he comes out of the attack. He can feel Kosmo’s weight on him, the gentle calming licks he’s giving his chin intermixed with soft nudges of his wet nose. Then a muffled voice filters through the haze, like someone speaking beyond a wall thick of cotton. In the very distant background, he can hear the upbeat rhythm of a top ten playing in the lobby of the mall, excited chatter and laughter a rhythmic ebb and flow as people enjoy this lovely autumn afternoon inside where it's dry and warm. 

Keith raises his hand slowly and runs his fingers through Kosmo’s soft fur, closing his eyes and drifting to the sound of the soothing voice nearby. His curiosity is peaked, and he wants to know who is there with him but he lets himself come down a little more before opening his eyes.

Of course, it's the guy from the store. The one with the blue eyes and knack for defending the weak—not that Keith is weak because he is most certainly not. He’s sitting a few feet away, leaning against the opposite side of the hallway and just—

Talking. Simply talking to no one but the empty air.

At first, Keith thinks it’s nonsense, ramblings of a mad man, but then the words float through the dispersing haze of his brain and he can finally make sense of them.

A story. He’s telling Keith a story.

About what, Keith isn’t too sure. Something about some geese and a pond and maybe a younger version of the guy himself from what he can tell. But he was a little out of it for the beginning so, his guess is as good sardines on ice cream.

Eventually, after a few steadying breaths, Keith interrupts to croak out a confused, “What are you doing?”

The guy startles, jumping and glancing over at Keith with wide blue eyes. He recovers quickly. “Telling you a riveting story about the time I fell into a pond,” he says with a dazzling smile and wink.

If Keith wasn’t so out of it, he’d be blushing all the way to his ears. Perhaps he is.

“What?” he asks. He moves to sit up and Kosmo backs off to settle down beside him on the cold tiled floor.

“It’s a fascinating tale.” The guy’s grin broadens, turning playful at the edges. His eyes dance. “Truly. Really brings down the house.”

Keith rolls his eyes, slowly so as not to aggravate his lingering dizziness. “No, I mean what are you  _ doing _ . Here. With me.”

He gestures to the dimly lit emergency exit hallway they have taken up residence in. To this vulnerable, embarrassing anxiety episode watch party he was most certainly not invited to. 

Confusion draws at the guy’s brow. “Being a friend?” It’s posed like a question, like one he isn’t sure needs answering but is giving anyway. 

Keith frowns. “I don’t know you.”

The guy leans across the hallway and extends his hand in delayed greeting. “Lance McClain” he says, all toothy grin and confidence.

Keith knows where this goes, knows that he’s expected to give his name in return and then the guy—Lance—will declare they now know each other and therefore this is no longer weird or awkward. 

Except it still is. Awkwardness doesn’t go away once you know someone's name. It just wipes away the haze of anonymity. Puts a name to better remember a face by.

And that’s what Keith usually strives to avoid. He likes his anonymity, strives for it. Well, as much as any person with a service dog can.

But something in his heart pulls on the reins and he takes the offered hand. “Keith.”

The blinding smile he gets in return is rewarding enough and this time he can feel the blush on his neck. 

Okay, so perhaps Lance is a little more than just not bad to look at.

“Well, now you know me,” Lance says right on cue, just as he anticipated. Keith rolls his eyes but a smile of his own nips at his lips. 

Lance must take that as a win because in the next second he’s pushing to his feet before thumbing over his shoulder toward the rest of the mall. “Want to go get some coffee? I could really use a latte right about now.”

Perhaps it’s his exhaustion or the dizzying blue of Lance’s eyes that make him say yes but whatever it is, Keith doesn’t end up regretting it.

And if Shiro is surprised a few weeks later when Keith asks if he can bring a plus one to his wedding, he hides it well enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles and short fics: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


End file.
